The grand library of Voidmore was less a room for knowledge and more a tomb for forgotten secrets. It was a cavernous, circular hall that stretched upward into the gloom, its ceiling lost in a perpetual twilight of drifting ash and sorcerous mist. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves carved from dark, petrified oak, accessible only by a system of iron ladders and floating stone ledges.
Hannah dragged herself through the towering archway, her body functioning on little more than pure, unadulterated willpower. The pain from the steam burns and the harsh, abrasive salve still throbbed through her lower limbs, turning every step into a jagged, rhythmic torture. Her servant's tunic was torn at the hem, and her skin felt as though it were being pricked by a thousand invisible needles. Yet, she had a task. The Sovereign's voice still echoed in her mind, a command as absolute as the law of gravity.
She began the search.
